Growing Up Sketchy

I am a shadow of my former self
I person I do not admire
Nor one that I detest
Just a shadow
A smudge on the wall
That I notice but never clean
A fly that sits in the corner of the window
Never buzzing
Never bothering
A ice sculpture on the front lawn
A transparent figure
Not unlike a ghost
But cold, and melting
Losing space
Losing existence
But willing to come back with the seasons
Existing to observe
Never to act
To listen but not speak
I am a shadow of my former self
The parts are all there
But they are robotic
I an automaton
I a machine that moves from one place to the next
Twitching my fingers on a keyboard
Moving my wrists to fold mundane causes
Blanking on the answers
While speaking freely toward the questions
Like a paper bag unused below the register
Observant of the plastic
Useless beneath the metal
Used by those who think more
Who aged more
Lost in my icy metallic exterior
I am a shadow of my former self
A self who died at twenty-something
Completely content with being not content
Conceding to simplicity
Falling on to knees to beg for silence
Because the noise is negative
Not wanting death
Just wanting patience
I am a shadow of a self
Not former or otherwise
An illusion I concocted
While listening to the radio
Contemplating the state of the world
Blissfully listing listless trivia
Going from door to door
Car to work
Home to a place that used to be it
Sipping on water cups
Drinking when its hopeless
Feeling lost
But healthy
I am but a shadow of some other person
Who I was
Was lost in the street.